


Elasticity of Time

by ImaniJoain



Series: Unlikely Singularities [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 14:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10923402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaniJoain/pseuds/ImaniJoain
Summary: The ability to enter the mind of another is a heady one, and cannot be abused. Wanda has made that mistake before and has promised that she won't do it again. Even her closest friend, whose mind is freely offered to her, she would never take advantage of. When she loses that connection, however superficial, the guilt and regret might paralyze her.  *Takes place 3/24/17 - 3/31/17





	1. Schrodinger

**March 24, 2017**

“Five minutes.”

Natasha’s voice was easily heard over the drone of the engines, even without the comm system, but Wanda ignored it. She had to. Thinking about how much time was left only led her to think about how much time had passed, and that led to a single moment where everything had stopped for her. She was still living there, in that moment, and as long as she refused to acknowledge the crushing march forward then she could continue to remain there and not be where she was. Not think about what was coming.

Another mind. Close enough she could feel it without trying. Warm and Secure. Vast and calm and comforting in its duality: complex and simple. A mind unlike any other - unique in all of creation but with a purpose and understanding that made all of the confusion and tangled gnarls of her own thoughts ease. An intentional burst of affection.

That was the moment she wanted. Not the moment after, where Vision had purposefully, willingly increased his mass just enough to take a bullet meant for her. Not just one, but three. Three times over he had saved her life, something which she shouldn’t have needed. All the training, all the mistakes that she had already blundered through and thought she had learned from should have made his sacrifice unnecessary. He had given his life for her. With a burst of affection.

The moment after had been when his mind closed. It was a door, solid and thick like a bank vault, slamming shut and she reeled from the shock of it. No longer was he waiting for her just on the other side, or if he was, she could not tell. The loss affected her power and it poured out from her in a dangerous explosion that cleared enemies for hundreds of feet and even knocked Natasha to the ground. She had not realized what had happened until the next moment.

She had turned and he was falling, too slowly for it to be natural. She caught him with her own hands, but he was too heavy, unimaginably heavy, pressing her to her knees and requiring all her strength to keep him from hitting the dirt. Fluid seeped from his chest, neck, and skull. His eyes were open, but he was unseeing. The stone on his head was dull. Wanda reached out with her mind, desperately calling for him, but there was no answer.

All the moments after that blurred into a single knowledge that Vision was no longer with her. His body was there, as she finally corralled her power enough to lift him and take him to the jet. His lips were slightly parted, air moving through them too slowly to sustain a human, as she settled him on the last empty medical stretcher - across from Steve. Natasha joined Clint in the cockpit while Barnes and Sam began working on Vision. The hooked him up to monitors and discussed his vitals. They speculated on how deep the bullets had reached and if he could, perhaps was, forcing them back out of himself while remaining unresponsive. Steve woke several times, murmuring incoherently to Barnes before falling back asleep. Wanda saw in her peripheral vision the long tears in the back of his suit, the deep bruises and angry cuts when they turned him over to inspect his injuries. She saw the blood clotting the hair just above his ear and heard his whisper of ‘Darcy’. All of that, but she never took her eyes off of Vision’s face. There was a name for it, something Dr. Foster had explained once, like a cat in a box. As long as the box remained closed, there was no way to know if the cat was alive or dead - in essence, it was both at the same time. The door to Vision’s mind was closed, so she could not know if he was still in there, or if he had disappeared entirely. Both alive and dead. Not alive and not dead. Wanda didn’t want to think about the possibilities, so instead she forced herself back to that moment, before. The brush of his existence against hers. A burst of affection.

The jet landed as softly as a cat’s paws, and the bay door was opening before Wanda could consider turning. Sam stepped out, she could hear him speaking and the distinctive voices of Pepper Potts and Scott Lang responding. Two people followed Sam back inside, carrying equipment, and the jet took off again. A light touch on her shoulder startled her out of her moment, and Wanda hissed in anger.

“Please, Ms. Maximoff,” a smooth voice drew her attention. She glanced up, and a familiar-looking woman in a pencil skirt and cardigan was hovering at her side. Her hair was a rich honey-brown and braided into a no-nonsense twist pinned to her head. She wore little makeup, and her face was free of worry. “I’m Dr. Vivas. Pepper and Mr. Stark sent me. I’d like to examine Mr. Vision, if that is alright with you.”

Wanda frowned and turned her eyes down again, only then realizing that she had surrounded his body with a haze of red mist. “I...yes, of course.” She began to withdraw her power, only to feel that touch on her shoulder again.

“If you can, I would prefer that you remain at the ready. I understand you can manipulate objects?” At her hesitant nod, the doctor continued, “I may need your assistance, if you are able. How well does it work for items that you cannot see?” Her hands were busy, not touching Vision, but working around him, hooking up her own equipment and making notes on a StarkPad. She kept up a steady stream of questions, asked calmly and professionally, while she moved. Scott set up video and sound recording equipment above the medical bed, turning it on before beginning to put on his suit.

“What is this?” Wanda interrupted Vivas.

“I have not examined Mr. Vision before, but I understand from his files as well as discussions with Mr. Stark that he is biomechanical - both living tissue and elements of circuitry.” Wanda nodded again, although her agreement wasn’t necessary. “Repairing tissue, even at a genetic level, is quite familiar to me. But I felt it best to have someone on hand who had experience with engineering as well. Mr. Lang is uniquely prepared for this situation. His technological understand is impressive, he is aware of the particular existence of Mr. Vision, and he can give me a far better view of what his happening under the skin right now.”

“You’re going to- to put him in the bullet holes?” Wanda’s eyes went wide and her power began to fluctuate. It was unorthodox - beyond that to unthinkable - and it seemed incredibly risky. And if Scott looked in the box, then she would know. Alive or Dead. Not alive or Not dead.

“I believe this is the best course of action right now, Ms. Maximoff. I discussed it at length with Mr. Stark and he agreed. However.” She finished sterilizing her hands and donning gloves before meeting Wanda’s gaze. She looked young, for a doctor. Older than Wanda, but younger than Tony or Clint. A little red seeped into Wanda’s eyes, a warning, but Vivas did not flinch. “Mr. Vision listed three people in his medical file that can make decisions for him. You are the only one present. If you do not want to move forward, we can stop right now. I can continue to passively monitor and hand that information over to Dr. Cho when she arrives in New York. However.” The second pause was longer, less deliberate and more considering. “Ms. Maximoff, I do not believe that Mr. Vision can wait that long.”

“Do it.” Wanda spoke quickly, and threw a hard look at Scott. “If you hurt him any further while you are in there-”

His eyes were wide and he gulped. “No, definitely not. I won’t, I promise. Just taking a look for the doc and then I am out of there.”

“Should it be necessary, do you think you would be able to withdraw Mr. Lang? I am prepared to utilize tweezers, but it is always best to have a backup.”

“Yes. Go.”

Vivas pulled out a sterilization wand, and put her hand down near the floor at Scott’s feet. He swallowed again before snapping on his helmet. “Is this a good time to mention I failed biology because I couldn’t dissect a frog without getting sick?”

“No,” Vivas said with no more inflection than she would have asked for a scalpel, “it is not.” There was a muffled snort behind them by Steve’s bed and then Scott shrank. With a few bounds he was in Vivas’ hand, being lifted and scanned with blue radiation. “If you would activate the speakerphone on my tablet, Mr. Wilson, please.”  Scott’s voice was a little tinny, but it came through clearly.

“Okay. Head first, right? I mean, feet first,” he scoffed at himself, “obviously. But we’re doing the one in his forehead first, right?”

“As we discussed, Mr. Lang.” Vivas wiped the slowly oozing fluid from Vision with a square of gauze held in forceps, then tipped her hand to let Scott walk across vibrant red skin. “Camera on, please.” An image flickered to life on her StarkPad, a vastly oversized view of the bridge of Vision’s nose. “You will pass through the frontal bone of the skull, please note any chips, fractures or shards that are not solidly attached, and from there into the meninges. Do not touch any of the membrane if you can avoid it…”

Assessing that wound took the longest amount of time, nearly an hour. The bullet in his neck was lodged in muscle and had missed any major nerves, arteries, or vessels. His chest wound had barely been touched when Natasha announced they were ten minutes out from the Tower. Wanda was impressed. Vivas was thorough and respectful, never treating Vision like anything less than a person and always explaining what she was going to do before she did it. There was no cutting, no attempts to remove the bullets or do anything more invasive. Wanda was beginning to wonder if the doctor would be doing anything at all, or if she was simply collecting data so that Helen would be able to begin work as soon as she arrived.

“I have to throttle down,” Clint called back from the cockpit. “We’re entering restricted airspace over the City. There will be more power available for comms, one line at a time.”  Vivas gently extracted Scott, who immediately grew and sat on shaky legs on the other side of the jet. He was covered in the same viscous fluid that oozed from Vision and Sam discreetly stepped away from the puddle growing at Scott’s feet. Vivas stared thoughtfully at Wanda, looking but not really seeing her. It made the younger woman nervous.

“I need to speak to Friday,” she announced with a nod of decision.

“Dr. Vivas,” the faint Irish lilt was tinged with nerves. Wanda knew that the AI still viewed Vision as something of a kindred spirit. “How may I be of assistance?”

Things moved quickly from there, as though time was speeding forward in vengeance for her determination to avoid its passage altogether.  Vivas ordered supplies and materials, forwarded her data to Helen Cho. Wanda herself lifted Vision off of the jet and onto a stretcher, which groaned under his weight as if Thor had been there instead. She stayed by his side, her hand hovering over his immobile one, but not touching, as Vivas issued orders to the waiting medical staff. The rest of the team split off, waiting to be checked over by another doctor, while Vision was expressed to the medical floor. It usually had only a skeleton staff, as most of the functions had been relocated to the training facility, but it was a concentrated hive of activity under Vivas’ efficient instruction. Wanda tried to prepare herself, expecting that at any moment she would be asked politely, but firmly, to wait outside.

The request, which she would have denied, never came. Vivas beckoned her over to to a wash room, within sight of Vision as he was wheeled into surgery on the other side of a thick glass window. “Strip.” She pointed to a small screened area off to the side and a rolling cart stacked with scrubs. “Hair tied up, please. Scrubs. Then hair cap.” Vivas turned her back and Wanda did as she was told. She focused on the taut string of her power stretched between her and Vision in the next room. Vivas continued talking, directing the staff and requesting Friday place another call using her cell.

“Christine,” she said warmly. Wanda eavesdropped, focusing on the words and the motion as she discarded her filthy clothes, rising off what she could in a tiny hand sink. “This is Evelyn Vivas. Yes...I am in New York again, but I’ll have to catch up later. I need Stephan’s number.” Wanda stepped out, wearing hideous yellow scrubs and tucking her hair into a messy bun. The disposable cap went on easily. Vivas glanced over and mouthed, ‘Do as I do’. She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and thrust her hands under automatic faucets at a wide, shallow double sink. “It is an emergency...More so than usual? No...I can only present the facts, but I assume a challenge? Yes… I have it...Thank you.”

Wanda copied her carefully, scrubbing her cuticles, nails, and every side of her fingers while Vivas placed a second call, this time to a man named Stephan. “It’s Vivas...Christine gave me your - mature biomechanical artificial lifeform showing signs of acute shock and unresponsive to outside stimuli. Multiple GSW, one to the frontal cortex, projectile still intact, six centimeters under the cranium...Still too busy? No...I have my own hands, thank you. I just need your eyes and brain...Do you need me to describe the location for you? At the end of your neck is a bulbous, calcium rich container of- New York. Avengers Tower...Eighty-seven, I’ll call down to security and-”

A commotion interrupted her and Vivas dropped her phone in the sink. “Friday?”

“Stark Tech is waterproof, Dr. Vivas. I should also note that a man has...appeared in the elevator lobby on this floor and Mr. Barton and Ms. Romanoff are attempting to detain him. He does not seem to-” There was another yell, and burst of light from the corridor. Wanda turned, hands dripping with soap and water and threw up a barrier. A tall man, his beard neatly trimmed and a red cape floating out behind him stood in the doorway, his arms crossed. Natasha slid to a stop behind him, gun raised, but Vivas waved her away.

“Impressive. Potential energy transference. We should discuss that later.” He turned to Vivas. “I got here as quickly as I could.” He smirked at his own joke, obviously expecting the doctor to be astonished. Wanda did not like the man and was pleased to see Vivas lift one eyebrow with disdain. The newcomer seemed to appreciate that as well. “Status?”

“Ms. Maximoff?” Slowly, Wanda lowered her shield, but increased the energy she had circling around Vision. Vivas waved both her and the man to the sinks. “Stephan, it will be difficult for you, but try not to antagonize anyone else while you are here. Friday - please let the staff and Mr. Vision’s team know that my colleague, Dr. Strange, has arrived to consult and that everything is well,” she glanced down and Wanda followed her gaze the the scarred, shaking fingers Strange thrust into the water, “in hand.” He snorted and rolled his eyes but Vivas ignored him. “Patient was impacted with three 7.9 mm projectiles in the…”

Although Strange seemed to intimidate the operating staff and constantly critiqued Vivas’ technique, his observations and suggestions were always met with the consideration of the doctor in charge. More often than not, Vivas seemed to take his advice as well. It was not long into the surgery before Wanda could no longer watch as they cut into Vision’s skin. Tony’s voice came through Friday, adding information about the mechanical aspects of his creation. They all worked for nearly an hour before Vision began to seize.

Wanda was so surprised she almost didn’t act fast enough. Vision’s stone emitted a short burst, cutting into the ceiling and she had to throw up a dome of energy to keep the debris from falling onto his open wounds. It took all of the staff, Strange included, to hold him still until it passed. Carefully, Wanda collected the dust and other detritus and pushed them through to the wash area. No one said anything about her power, and Vision did not respond. Not even a flicker of recognition brushed against her mind as they kept working. It happened twice more before Helen Cho arrived, taking control of the operating theatre and listening to Strange and Vivas report as she washed up. Vivas removed the last bullet from Vision’s left lung as the Cradle was pushed into position. Helen administered drugs and suggested that Wanda leave, while inviting Strange and Vivas to stay. He accepted immediately, more interested in the technology and techniques than Vision as a person, Wanda could sense that from him without trying.

Vivas declined. “I will leave Mr. Vision to the specialist, thank you. But I will be staying at the Tower for now, if you need anything. Would you like me to update his loved ones?”  Cho nodded, and Wanda withdrew right behind Vivas. She left a tiny bit of her power behind, circling his wrist and tying her to him as long as she didn’t leave the Tower. She stripped off her gown and waited while Vivas did the same and washed the latex residue from her hands.

Wanda felt empty, hollowed out inside like she had been scooped clean and left raw and bleeding. There was nothing else she could do. Nothing she could say or change that would make him better. There was only the hope that Vivas had acted quickly enough. That Strange knew what he was doing. That Helen Cho would be able to repair what she had created. Her brain was fuzzy. Lack of sleep, stress, and prolonged use of her gift muddled her thinking so that she could only follow dumbly where Vivas led and listen to the null sound of Vision’s presence echoing in her consciousness.

“You have reacted admirably today,” Vivas said softly as they approached the waiting area. Through the double glass doors Wanda could see Natasha sitting with a magazine. Clint and Sam were hunched over a checkerboard, still wearing their tactical gear. Steve and Barnes were missing, and she recalled the blood on the side of the Captain’s head and the bullet flattened into the armor over the Winter Soldier’s spine. Tony would still be down in his workshop, coordinating with Cho and Friday.

“It was my fault he was shot,” Wanda responded, suddenly desperate to admit her guilt to someone, anyone. Even the doctor who was a near stranger to her.

“Is that what he would say?” There was no censure in her tone, only mild curiosity.

“No,” Wanda sighed out a Sokovian curse. “He is far too good to lay blame. Even when it is due.”

“Hm.” She paused with her hand on the door. “And what would you say, if Mr. Vision felt someone had been hurt because he made a mistake?” There was no time to respond, not that Wanda knew what to say, because the door to the waiting room was opening and her friends were standing to greet her and speak with the doctor. Sam’s cautious relief and hope settled around her like an old blanket. “Shall we get directly to the mater?” Clint and Sam both nodded while Natasha studied Vivas, but the doctor was looking to Wanda for permission.

“Yes.” She cleared her throat and sank into a casually expensive armchair. “Please.”

“With consult from Dr. Strange, three bullets were removed from Mr. Vision. Two had fractured, leaving some shrapnel behind. The sites have been scanned, and both Mr. Stark and I are confident that any foreign matter has been removed. Mr. Vision will need tests in the future to confirm that, but there does not appear to be any danger of ongoing damage.” She motioned the others to sit, but only Sam did so.

“Dr. Cho is working on Mr. Vision now. This is the more difficult portion of his surgery, by a considerable degree. Some significant damage was caused to both the physical structure of his cranium and the brain organ itself, but also to the network that integrates his self with his physical structure. Several key mechanical components sustained damage, and Mr. Stark is replicating replacements which Dr. Cho will integrate. We anticipate this process to take at least another eight hours. Possibly twelve.”

“Why so long?” Clint asked. “She built his whole body in less than a week. Seems like is is pretty small in comparison.”

“It is,” Vivas agreed, “but during his initial creation, Mr. Vision’s body was inert, unchanging and in a constant, stable state. Since that time his cerebral structure and network have been altering themselves. SImply recreating the original parts and inserting them will not work.”

“It’s like this, Trick Shot,” Tony interrupted from the doorway. He carried a small, clear container of fine wires and components. His hair was in disarray and the circles under his eyes were dark, the lines around his mouth deep. The coil of guilt, anger, relief, and responsibility that rotated around him almost hurt Wanda to feel. “Imagine my ‘62 Shelby cobra needed a new fuel gauge. I could call up the factory and order one, but it wouldn’t fit because I customized the dash to make room for a mini-bar. And even if I modified the fit, the wiring would have to all be changed out, because I rerouted most of the electrical.”

Clint frowned, exasperated. “Why would you put a mini-bar in a Cobra?”

Wanda could only guess that Tony was talking about a car, and while the analogy stung - Vision was not a machine - she could understand what he was trying to point out. Vivas continued,

“A sentient brain is infinitely more complex than Mr. Stark’s example, which is why he will be working diligently with Dr. Cho to ensure that everything goes as smoothly as possible. I must be clear, though, that this is not a guaranteed success. Mr. Vision may still have some cognitive adjustments once he wakes, and some parts of his mind may never truly integrate as they once did. Any standard human being would have died at the scene. I have great hope for the procedure - Mr. Vision is a product of brilliant minds and he has utilized his short time alive for a wealth of experiences that speak to his character and fortitude. He will need your support, but at this point we can only wait for Dr. Cho to finish her work and assess the results.”  Tony began talking again, and Wanda leaned forward, grabbing onto Vivas’ forearm and squeezing hard.

“Thank you.” She couldn’t express how much, didn’t even want to try for fear that she would break down sobbing or unleash all of her frustrations in a maelstrom of power. Vivas placed her own cool palm on top of Wanda’s chapped fingers.

“You should get some rest, if you can. Change. Eat. When Dr. Cho is finished you will be able to sit with him. He will feel better, having a familiar face there when he wakes, and I think your particular presence will be beneficial to his recovery.” She smiled, a small thing that emphasized how tired she looked, then left.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Natasha had taken the seat beside her, a calculating gaze assessing the younger woman.

Wanda let out a breath, reaching again for the thin thread that connected her to Vision. “No,” she decided. “I’m going to go change, shower. Will you have Friday call me if there is an update?”

“Of course.”

“Doc’s right,” Tony said loudly. “Not much any of you can do until tomorrow. Better take a break while you can. I hate to admit it, but Captain Underpants and his pocket-sized pal had the right idea.”

Wanda was nearly overwhelmed with guilt and concern. She had completely forgotten about Steve’s injuries. She wasn’t even certain if he had gotten off the jet under his own power. “Is Steve alright? His head-”

“Checked out fine,” Sam assured her. “Broken foot and heavy bruising. Wicked concussion. Nothing that won’t be gone by the end of the week.”

“And Barnes?”

“Who knows?” Sam rolled his eyes, aiming a smile her way. “He was all stoic and Russian and stared down Cap and a bevy of nurses before he left without so much as a band-aid.”

“He’s not actually Russian,” Natasha pointed out with the air of well-travelled argument.

“Says you,” Tony snorted. “How do we even know you’re really Russian. Your secrets have secrets.”

“She bleeds vodka,” Clint replied with complete seriousness.

Wanda felt the corner of her mouth turn up. These were her friends, and they would be here for her and for Vision. And she had to believe that he would be okay, because they would do anything to make certain that he was. Just as she would. Anything to have him awake and back in her life. Out of the box and alive. Not dead.

With intentional affection.


	2. Heisenberg

“Did you sleep at all?”

“Some.” There was a long pause and the smell of mint and citrus on hot steam. “Not much.” There was another long pause, a considering one with a deep, small bubble of amusement. “Did you?”

“It was a late night for everyone, I think. Still going over the intel. But at least Steve- goddamn it, witchy-woman! We’re supposed to be talking about you, not poking around in my love life. Jiminy cricket minds his own business better than you.” Laughter, barely suppressed but working to the surface. “ _Sam_ minds his own business better.”

“That hurts me, how did you put it? Deep in my heart space. I am hurt there.” The voice was familiar. Soft and dark like a warm night and accented differently than the other woman.

“Yeah, well if the leather jacket fits…” There was some mumbling, then the voice was tinged with embarrassment. “Is it, like, completely obvious?” He could not hear the feeling in her words, which were flippant, but he could sense it. It brushed absently against his consciousness.

“You are happy, druzhe mii,” the dark voice said. He knew those words.

_Druzhe mii._

_друже мій._

_My Friend._

She continued, “I am not prying, I swear. But-”

“I never said you were. I know you wouldn’t.”

“But you are glowing, just a little bit.”

She was. He could sense it. A warmth that washed against him like a gentle tide against the shore.

“Glowing! I’m not fucking pregnant, Wanda.”

_Wanda._

“No,” she chuckled shortly. “It is not a literal glow of the skin, but one of the spirit. You are happy. Very happy.”

_Wanda_. He knew that name.

“Sheesh. Let’s not make this into a mushy thing. Steve’s bad enough already. He totally lost his chill in front of Barnes. I am never going to live this down.”

“It is nice, Darcy. A nice thing for you, that you both deserve. And-” another pause. He _knew_ her. “It is nice for me to feel from you. Right now. Always, but especially now.”

_Wanda_. A face filled his mind, round and smiling with red lips and brown eyes. Those same eyes narrowed and expectant when she reminded him not to walk through her wall. Those lips pursed, trying to hold in a laugh as he attempted to navigate fashion choices for the first time. That voice, dark and soft and almost broken, whispering that she missed her brother.

“So...you’re jonesing for some of my contact love high?”

“You make it sound so...I am trying to say…”

“Crude?”

“No.”

“Tasteless?”

“No, Darcy.”

Cheap?”

“That isn’t it.”

“Reasonably low-priced?”

“Tawdry.” His voice came out raspy and far less certain than he was used to, and was met with silence. He wondered if they had not heard him, so he tried again. “It connotes a certain low-brow entertainment value which I believe can be associated with the illicit use of mood enhancing substances, which seems to have been suggested.”

There was a sudden, sharp inhalation and the scrape of a chair and then he felt a gentle warmth hovering over his hand. A shadow blocked the glare of light behind his eyelids, and he could pick out, under the stale scent of detergent and antiseptic, a faint odor of cherry blossoms. “Viz?” Wanda sounded unsure. Hopeful and fearful at the same time. Opening his eyes was a chore, the light stabbing in a way that made him almost sympathetic to a hangover that Mr. Stark had once suffered from for sixteen months straight. The shadow moved, easing his pain and creating a halo around dark, wavy hair. One long piece slipped over her shoulder to brush against his cheek, letting off another puff of delicate pink flowers. His eyesight seemed a little fuzzy, but he would have recognized her face anywhere.

“Yes, Wanda?” Her eyes became glassy almost instantly. She did not smile or speak, and he became concerned. Wanda had been sad and lonely for too long, he did not wish to make her feel that way again. “What is wrong?” His voice was still weak, and he tried to push past it. “What can I do?”

“I’ll get Helen.” A door opened and closed in a rush.

Wanda ignored the other woman and continued to stare. The moisture was building up, threatening to spill over, spiking her dark lashes and draining the pink from her cheeks. “Please.” he continued, discomfited by her expression. “Do not be unhappy. Bring back Darcy if you need to.”  She smiled then, but the tears were falling anyhow. One of them landed on his chin. He could feel his own concern, inside and out. Sense the way it brushed against those around him.

“After what I have done, you still worry for me,” she whispered.  He opened his mouth, confused, but then the door was opening again and Dr. Cho was hurrying into the room, checking his monitors and grinning down at him. Wanda pulled away, and he tried to lift his hand to draw her back, but his limbs felt heavy. He frowned.

“Is something not right with me?” He attempted to change his mass, to make himself lighter so he could sit up and face Wanda, find out what was wrong with her and fix it.

“You were injured, Vision,” Dr. Cho stated simply. “During a battle. You underwent a rather prolonged surgery, and we were not certain how well you would recover. You have been unconscious for a week.” He felt his eyes widen. His shock rebounded back at him from outside his own mind. He rarely slept, could count the number of times he had done so since his creation on one hand. He could not fathom sleeping for one hundred sixty-eight hours.

Dr. Cho tapped on her tablet and made a few adjustments to the bag of fluids hanging next to his bed. He had never before needed fluids. “Tony and I have been monitoring you, and everything seemed to be in working order, but you hadn’t woken, and a few of us were beginning to grow concerned.”

A few of us, meaning Wanda. That would explain her tears and although he felt guilty for his emotions he was pleased that she had been _concerned_ for him. But she had seemed more than worried. Vision frowned.

The door opened again and Mr. Stark’s voice continued where Vision’s doctor left off, “She’s been giving you some sedatives and a few other nutrients to promote cell stabilization. We couldn’t predict what would happen if you phased through the bed in your sleep before you were completely healed. Not all of you might have stuck together.” Vision glanced down toward his feet to find the genius, arms crossed over a wrinkled _Enter Sandman_ shirt, leaning one hip against the bed. “I put a lot of effort into Jarvis. Admittedly, most of it was while adolescent and drunk. But I put a hell of a lot more time and brainpower into planning for you, so I’d appreciate it if you would keep the dematerializing to a bare - oh, let’s say - zilch, while we make sure all the king’s horses and men won’t need to try and put you back together again.” Despite his jokes and cavalier attitude, Mr. Stark felt guilty. Guilty and relieved and grateful and incredibly exhausted.

Vision blinked rapidly to help clear up his eyesight and glanced over to Wanda, who had backed even further away, fiddling with a cup of tea before placing it on the desk. She was close enough to the wall that if she shifted her light jacket would brush against it. He had no doubt she would have fled the room if Mr. Stark and Dr. Cho weren’t blocking her exit.

“What happened?”

“It is normal for some memories immediately surrounding trauma of this nature to be difficult to grasp,” Dr. Cho began.

Thankfully, as ever, Tony was a blunt instrument. “Oh, yeah. You’ll want to see the action. Friday? Que up the film reel.”

“Of course, Boss.” The lights dimmed slightly and a window somewhere behind the bed lowered its shades. “And may I say, Vision, how relieved I am to see you awake and well.”

“Thank you, Friday.” He meant it, of course. He was touched that Friday had developed an attachment for him, and would admit to having one for her. He imagined it was a similar feeling, in so far as he was capable of it, as what Wanda had felt for Pietro when he was alive. Vision glanced her way again, but her eyes were riveted on the holographic projection emanating from Tony’s phone. Her skin was even paler than before, her mouth open and moving, but no words came out.

“I’ll be the first to admit I’m not usually a Vivaldi fan,” Mr. Stark spoke over the music that began to play as background to a scene filmed from the air showing Vision holding off a loose circle of combatants. “But this one really spoke to me. It just screamed ‘Vision’s kick ass and chew bubblegum’ soundtrack. You know? Except with less bubblegum and more heroics. But that doesn’t look as good on an album cover.”  Video from several different feeds, the team’s combat cameras, Vision realized, had been cut together into a short film. Bits and pieces of memory were coming back as he watched. The Captain’s fall. Natasha’s order to retreat. Wanda arriving to offer support. But more enemies kept coming at the team. Crazed. They had seemed almost unbalanced in their diligence to attack no matter the cost to themselves or their comrades. He watched one enemy raise two handguns, point them right at Wanda’s unprotected back. Even as the Vision on screen rushed to defend her, he recalled his feelings in that moment when he knew she didn’t anticipate the attack. Horror washed through him all over again. Wanda, the one in the hospital room, flinched as if she had been kicked. He had just wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. Their lives were not conducive to safety and security and if his sleeping for a week was the consequence for her still breathing he would pay it over again a hundred times.

Vision tried again to reach out to her, glancing down at his own hand in frustration when it barely came off the bedding. In the semi-darkness of the room he could make out a narrow band of red, circling his wrist and trailing across the room, floating and weaving in unseen currents, to connect to Wanda’s fingers. Clarity came to him swiftly - so swiftly she flinched again. He had been sensing the emotions of those around her since he woke, including himself. An unintentional consequence of her link to him. Which meant - she had felt what he was feeling. Vision frowned again. He had not been an independent, living being for very long, and sometimes he struggled with social customs and interpretations of expressions and emotions, but he knew that what Wanda seemed to be sensing was not at all what he was feeling.

“That’s enough,” Dr. Cho’s voice cut over the music. “Friday, lights, please.”

“But we haven’t gotten to the good part yet. There are a bunch of close ups,” Mr. Stark was edging into whining, and clearly needed food and sleep. Or at least a nap. “Tell her Friday, we have to watch the sweet cut scene!”

“I cannot, in good conscious, suggest such a thing, Boss.”

“Too much sass, Friday, my girl. Far more than I programed. And you don’t have a conscious.” Mr. Stark turned thoughtful, but allowed Dr. Cho to shoo him out of the room. “Or do you? Damnit. I have got to stop letting my creations evolve. Pepper will never…” His voice faded down the hallway and Dr. Cho gave Vision a soft smile.

“I’ll be back in an hour to run some test and adjust your meds if all goes well. Just let Friday know if you need anything. I am so happy you are okay, Vision.” Her smile grew wider and she exuded embarrassed joy. “And proud of you.” The door closed without a sound. Vision would need to think about that sentiment later and how to process it, but there were far more urgent matters that needed attending.

“I should just-”

“I do believe,” Vision began, to keep her from leaving when he couldn’t follow, “that I have never truly understood how your gift works.” She looked at him, so surprised she didn’t bother to turn her gaze, and faced his bed.

“What?”

“I mean to say, intellectually, I have considered it from many angles, applying all manner of science and quasi-scientific theories to it, but I will admit I was remiss in not considering how such a powerful ability might affect you on a daily basis.”

“What,” she repeated herself. Her eyebrows drew together over her nose with confusion. He liked it when she did that; it reminded him of two skinny caterpillars refusing to give way to each other. He was also aware that it would not be considered a flattering comparison, and so had never shared it with Wanda, but it still made him feel glad to see it. Not actually having eyebrows, himself, he was at times a bit jealous. That thought, the way he liked her confused larvae eyebrows, made him more determined to keep her there until he could explain himself and rid her of the sadness that had drained the life from her expression.

He twitched his fingers and looked at his hand pointedly until she followed his gaze, finally flushing when she realized he knew she had been holding his wrist and monitoring him with her power.

“Viz-” she began, both apologetic and so incredibly miserable looking he couldn’t let her finish.

“It must be horrendously overwhelming, at times, to be unable to not feel what those around you do. And then, to try and ascribe meaning to so many emotions, to understand and lace it into proper context all while controlling your own immense ability. I must apologize, Wanda. I have tried to be a good friend to you, but in this I have failed. Do you think you can forgive me?”

“What.” Her voice hardened. Confused, fuzzy caterpillars wrinkled and lowered to become angry. That was not at all the reaction he had been aspiring to elicit. Vision replayed his own words quickly and compared it to their previous interactions, trying to come up with an alternative approach. He was not fast enough. “You are impossible,” she snapped. “How can anyone hope to be your friend when you must be so - so- ugh! So honorable! Even Steve has more flaws!”

“You would prefer if I made more mistakes?” He had long believed that Wanda did not care that he was an artificial life form, enjoyed their differences, even. Cautiously, he spoke, hoping he was in error, “If I was more human?”

She stomped her foot, red sparks jumping around the ends of her hair. “I would prefer if you did not risk yourself to protect me from my own stupidity! I’m not worth this!” She gestured to the bed, encompassing all of him and the machines that monitored his body. Tears were running down her face again, from sadness or anger he wasn’t certain. “You are the only one of your kind, so much better than me. I nearly got you killed and still you try to comfort me. Stop it! Stop being so, so, bezkoryslyvyy!”

“Altruistic?” If Vision had eyebrows, they would have disappeared into his equally non-existent hair. “Wanda-” She whirled away and moved for the door. “Please,” he said desperately, “I cannot walk and I must say something.” She didn’t turn to face him, but her hand fell from the door lever. Her ribs were heaving under her red leather jacket, her breath loud in the small room. “As much as I would like to be able to say that I defended you for your own sake, that would not be the truth. I am not so selfless as you seem to believe, Wanda. I could have simply vaporized that enemy, and most likely would have had it been any other teammate in danger.” Her head tipped to the side, and he could see a sliver of cheek and the tip of her nose past a curtain of hair. She didn’t speak, so he kept going.

“Tactically, it would have been wiser to maintain my position, but there was a non-zero chance that the soldier aiming at your back would be able to fire before I hit him. The risk was unacceptable.” She shuffled her feet, facing him and bringing her a few steps closer to the bed. “I chose to stop those bullets myself, not for your sake, but for my own.” Her eyes widened, and Vision felt something new, a strange, uncomfortable motion in his lower torso. Despite not having consumed any food, he identified the sensation as queasiness.

“Are you...when…”

Vision could feel his own anxiety rebounding on him through Wanda. It might be interpreted by her in many ways, few of them correct or beneficial to her. There could be no misunderstandings in this. “As you are aware, I still find describing my own motivations and emotional constructs difficult at times. Because of this, I have, in the past, suggested that you may access my mind for clarification whenever you find it necessary.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“You haven’t, I know,” he reassured her. “And your self-control and propriety is commendable. But in this instance it is a hindrance, I assure you. And this is something that I not only allow, but I must insist.” Wanda still looked unsure, and Vision pressed for her acquiescence. “In this one moment, please. I will not demand it from you again, I promise.”

She nodded, shortly. Her teeth sank into her lower lip, pulling it into her mouth before releasing it with a sigh. Slowly, gently, more red mist bloomed in her hands. Her fingers twisted and danced, creating tiny galaxies of energy in her palms. It was objectively beautiful, the glow reflected by the wet streaks on her face. She stepped closer, her hip brushing against the blanket that had been draped over his lower body. With the first two fingers of her left hand she stroked his palm.

Vision had never asked the others what it had felt like to have Wanda in their heads. He understood their sensitivity to the matter as well as the importance for team cohesion to leave that episode in the past. That did not mean he had not been curious. Whatever his teammates had experienced, it could not have been remotely similar to the sensation of her power flowing up his arm, tracing along the vessels and filaments there toward his heart. Warmth, dark and soft like a summer night, pooled in his cardiac organ before spreading out to his spine and seeping into the still tender new tissue in his lung and neck.  Time subjectively slowed as she reached his brain. His neurons and circuits buzzed with additional energy. Tenderly, her touch so light it was more idea than act, she flowed around the softer, week-old spot that was still developing pathways to the rest of him.

Vision had been hugged before. Many times by Thor’s crushing grip and Steve and Sam’s hearty one-handed motions of camaraderie. Darcy was free and generous with the tactile expression as well. He had always found Wanda to be the most comforting, smelling like the cherry blossom fragrance of her shampoo and holding him firmly when she was upset or overjoyed.

That was nothing in comparison to the all-encompassing warmth and lightness - comfort and careful embrace - of being touched from the inside out. He wondered if his body was capable of the same involuntary release of neurochemicals that humans experienced in reaction to pleasant physical contact.

“Oh!”

He hadn’t realized his eyes had closed but he opened them to find Wanda leaning over him again, a faint blush on her cheeks. He smiled, feeling lazy and comfortable. It was almost hard to focus on why he had asked for this to begin with.

“It was selfish of me, you see?” He recalled catching sight of her that day in Myanmar. A flash of red in the corner of his eye as she and Natasha flanked him. She had looked fierce and determined and beautiful. That last observation was difficult to quantify. By the standards of most human social norms, including those of Sokovia and America, Wanda was quite striking. But his appreciation was more instinctual than logical, like the way he could be entranced by the graceful movements of her fingers, amused and envious of her expressive eyebrows, and left stunned and humbled by the strength of her convictions. He remembered the two guns, rising to aim at her unprotected back. His near instantaneous horror and realization that she would not notice in time, that even if he utilized the stone there would be .987 seconds in which the enemy soldier could fire and a bullet could hit Wanda. Pain had ripped through him at the thought. His pain, for that could be _his_ loss - of the one individual he preferred over any other. “Selfish,” he repeated, picturing the decrease in his own mass to travel as quickly as possible, in .53 seconds, to shield her back. The energizing of the stone and the returning density of his own body, enough to keep any projectiles from passing through him to her but no so much that they might ricochet off of him and potentially hit Natasha or a civilian. The first bullet hit his chest. The memory of it included pain, as his body perceived it, but at the time he was only satisfied that his plan had worked. Pleased Wanda was safe. Full of affection for her. Then the second bullet had entered his skull and he had lost control of his density and his conscious mind.

“You see?” Wanda was crying even harder but her lips were turned up at the corners and instead of lightly touching his palm she was gripping his hand forcefully. “I am flawed. Not selfless at all. You have nothing to feel sad or angry about. Be happy.”

She made a strangled, laughing sobbing sound deep in her throat. “That is what you have taken away from this? Of all that you felt and shared with me, your- your- lack of logic is what you feel is important?”

Vision frowned. He had been certain she would no longer be upset when he showed her that she had no fault in the matter of his injury. Certain that she would want to stay and keep him company while he had to wait for the sedatives to wear off.  He wanted Wanda to be with him, happy and not lonely, but he did not always understand and interpret his own emotions properly. Perhaps he had shown her the wrong memory. Perhaps he had interpreted her motivations and emotional indicators incorrectly. Perhaps-

“Hush, _pyranicek_.” She was holding back laughter now, directed at him. That, he was certain of. With a squeeze of her hand energy began to withdraw, leaving him feeling cooler in its absence and increasingly awkward at the realization that she had sensed all of his concern and uncertainty.  The beds in the infirmary were all specially designed to accommodate the largest of the Avengers - excluding Hulk, who would never accepted treatment were anyone foolhardy enough to offer it. Although Vision was situated squarely in the center, there was at least fifteen inches between his elbow and the railing. Wanda opened the cupboard in the corner and lifted his near arm at the same time with a swirl of power. His forearm fell across his abdomen and the extra pillow was contorted to fit in the space next to his shoulder.

“Friday,” Wanda said with a smile, “Can you bring up my Netflix que in here?” She climbed onto the bed and settled in next to him squirming to get comfortable in the narrow available area.

“Of course, Ms. Maximoff.” The home screen flickered to life on the opposite wall and Wanda pressed a button to make the head of the bed go up. “Would you like to continue where you and Vision last paused viewing?”

“Yes, thanks.”

A documentary about dolphin pods played quietly and Friday helpfully dimmed the lights. Wanda was in no greater proximity to him, pressed gently against his side, than she had ever been before. He could recall seven separate occasions on which they had been seated at least this close while watching television together at the training facility. There was, however, an implication of intimacy brought on by the quiet and seclusion, the privacy, of the room and their reclined position on the bed. Vision tried to compare it to other known situations of similar physical closeness between two individuals who shared affection. Ninety percent of those involved Mr. Stark, and so were suspect, at best. Dr. Foster and Thor had relaxed on the common room couch at the training facility in such a manner, but they had been romantically involved for some years prior to that incident. He had observed Darcy and Captain Rogers progress rapidly after their first meeting from socially acceptable casual physicality between coworkers to cuddling, as Darcy termed it, on sofas, at the dining table, and once even, improbably, in her office chair which did not have the design specifications to withstand their combined weight. Anecdotal evidence seemed to suggest-

“Caterpillars, huh?”

“Excuse me?” It took a moment for him to break from his inner line of reasoning to focus on Wanda’s soft question. When he did he could not contain a wince. Apparently he had shared more than he had planned to with Wanda. If his long experience with Mr. Stark had taught him anything, it was the many ways humans could be insulted, intentionally or otherwise. She did not sound angry, so he determined that distraction was the best course of action. “Do you think Darcy will be coming back soon?”

“Uh, yeah, probably. She was worried for you. Everyone was.”

“Would teasing be appropriate in this situation? To reduce concern?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, propping herself up on one elbow to eye him carefully. She was still smiling, and Vision liked that. “To a certain extent. Actually,” she tilted her head, gaze unfocused, “she’s coming this way now.” The door inched open and a large vase of daisies poked through, followed by a tousled mop of brown curls.

“Feeling up for a visitor?” Darcy’s glasses glinted in the light from the documentary and her wide mouth was parted with hopeful anticipation.

Vision forced his forehead to wrinkle, hoping the expression was noticeable even without any eyebrows, and frowned. “Do I know you?”  The color drained from Darcy’s face and the vase slipped, hitting the floor with a crack and a whoosh of water. Vision winced.

“He is joking, Darcy,” Wanda quickly assured her with a small smile. As the other girl sagged against the wall with relief, Wanda leaned into his shoulder and whispered in his ear, breath warm and sending tingles across his synthetic nerves, “We really need to work on your understanding of humor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The uncertainty principle.


End file.
